


Busy

by sileya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sileya/pseuds/sileya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a man's got to have his privacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busy

John sighed pleasantly, slowly relaxing under the almost-too-hot water pouring down from the showerhead, breathing in the billowing steam to let it fill his lungs and warm him from the inside. It was chilly at Baker Street in the winter, with its old radiators and cranky pipes, and between paying exorbitant energy bills and Sherlock's habit of opening windows--and leaving them open--John had resigned himself to keeping the temperature set about 18 during the day and lower at night. He'd woken up more than one morning stiff with cold, even under piles of blankets.

Thus, the shower, his morning salvation, was something to look forward to. Because it loosened his aching shoulder and calmed his stiff leg. Because it returned him to human status rather than walking popsicle state. Because wanking in a cold bed before sleep or a somewhat-warm-but-cooling one in the morning really sort of contradicted the whole point of the effort. 

John sighed again, starting to get into it, letting different thoughts flit in and out of his mind. He'd sort-of-reluctantly-but-not-really settled on an image that got his gut curling and other parts than his leg twitching, the thought of light, light eyes and dark, dark hair, and pale, pale skin... when the bathroom door crashed open, knocking into the small shelf behind it and sending toiletries clattering to the floor as a very singular voice filled the tile-lined room.

"John! I believe I've finally narrowed down the reason that the accelerant..."

"Sher-lock," John groaned, not sure if he was truly complaining since his gut had just cramped even harder, but _damn_.

"...and it burned the plastic just so but not the paper, and how is that even remotely possible, of course, but I think..."

"Sherlock." John spoke a bit more sharply. If it was because he still had himself in hand and wasn't showing any signs of giving in now that he had aural stimulation, well, who could blame him?

"...so really I have to make that trip back to check the burn marks on the floor around the coal bins--"

" _Sherlock_ ," John snapped this time, and that bedamned velvet voice cut out. "Have a little respect, would you?"

"Respect? I respect you just as I should. There's no reason you can't listen like you always do..."

"Sherlock, I'm busy," John tried, attempting some modicum of delicacy, but _really_. This was Sherlock. Chance were practically nil it would even make a dent.

"...really, talking to you gives me much more focus than trying to reason with the skull..."

"Busy, Sherlock. _Busy_."

"...and what in the world could keep you so busy in the show--"

Abruptly, John could hear nothing besides the splattering water and his own breathing. He couldn't see anything through the totally opaque bath curtain he'd bought. And then:

"Pardon." 

And Sherlock must have done his trademark twirl and exited in the same flurry as he entered, because there was shuffling and then an even louder slam than the first, and had that word out of Sherlock's mouth sounded _strangled_?

John sighed, perhaps not so pleasantly, until he realized he was still working himself and he was quite interested in finishing, especially with the inaudible remains of Sherlock's voice echoing around him. John groaned and leaned to press his forehead against the tile as he applied himself to the matter at hand.

Fifteen minutes later, John thumped down the stairs, fully dressed to ward off the chill though his hair was still damp, and he found Sherlock staring devotedly out the window--the open window, damn it, it had to be -10 outside--violin in one hand, bow in the other. Then John frowned slightly. Something about Sherlock's posture looked... off. He was twisted about more than usual, to the extent that John could barely see his face at all. Still, John had to say this now, or he'd never have any peace.

"Sherlock, look here, a man's got to have--"

"I'm sorry."

John blinked. "Excuse me?"

Even with Sherlock turned away from him, John could see the slight wince as it fluttered in his shoulders. "I said, I'm sorry."

"Oh." John wasn't quite stunned, but this was pretty close. Sherlock. Apologizing. For anything. Quite unusual. "Ah, thank you."

Sherlock cleared his throat as if to speak, but he didn't actually say anything, and now John was mystified. To be honest, Sherlock had done much worse when it came to blithely dismissing social mores and personal boundaries. John walked to stand on Sherlock's side of the desk so he could look over at his flatmate. "It, ah, it was a bit not good, yes, but I think we can move on," John tried.

Sherlock's reply was a convulsive bob of his head, and now John was just unnerved. Had he _offended_ Sherlock? How on earth? John paced around the desk to stop at Sherlock's side, and Sherlock somehow straightened even further, to the point John thought he might hear the other man's spine crack.

Then John saw it.

He caught himself in a classic double take. But there was no mistaking it, especially when Sherlock pressed his lips together harder and averted his eyes.

A delicate, rosy blush was pinkening Sherlock's cheeks. 

John couldn't help but smile. "Figured it out, did you?"

Sherlock's eyes darted toward him, but he immediately caught his gaze and turned it back out the window. The blush turned darker, suffusing his pale skin, making him look just like he did after a long run on a cold night: out of breath, huffing and grinning, eyes glittering, cheeks and nose flushed...

"Well. Serves you right, interrupting a man's shower," John good-naturedly sniped. Sherlock actually huffed and rolled his eyes, and his shoulders relaxed. John didn't bother to hold back his snicker as he pushed off from the wall to go to the kitchen to get his morning tea and toast.

"You don't need a shower."

John stopped in place to turn and gasped and jerked, because Sherlock was right behind him. Literally. John's shoulder rubbed across the fabric of Sherlock's dress shirt, and John's sweater tried to catch on a button. "Pardon?"

"I certainly didn't need a shower. Not until afterwards, anyway."

"What?" John practically squeaked. Surely Sherlock wasn't implying that he'd left the bathroom, where he'd blithely interrupted John's wank, to go and-- and-- and that was why he was blushing? Not because he'd barged in on John, but because of how he'd reacted to what he found?

"The most expedient way to avoid such awkward situations is for us both to know what's going on when."

John's jaw dropped when Sherlock raised his hands to cup John's elbows.

"And even better so, for us both to be so engaged so there's no reason for embarrassment on either side."

John just stared, caught by Sherlock's intent gaze and the arm snaking around his waist to pull him imperceptibly closer.

"After all, that's what friends are for, aren't they? To lend a hand when needed?" Sherlock practically purred. "Or _wanted_?"

"Daa... I...," John felt a blush flare in his own cheeks, and he stuttered as Sherlock leaned closer, close enough that the tips of their noses brushed.

Then Sherlock grinned, reached up to rub his fingers along John's cheek, arched an eyebrow, and winked.

**Author's Note:**

> For Connie. Better late than never, and everyone can use Johnlock after a couple of stressful days, right. <3
> 
> Johnlock. Prompt: blush


End file.
